Monday, 16 December 2013

If you want to
teach someone to swim there’s certainly no harm in explaining the basics to
them and giving them an idea of what to expect, but when it comes down to it
there’s no substitute for getting in the water.

In fact,
explaining nothing and giving them a shove is often the best method. Certainly
the quickest.

Will they
panic and flail around making things worse? Most likely, yes. But they’ll figure
it out. They won’t drown (even if it feels like they’re going to).

With writing—and
pretty much everything else—preparation only gets you to the edge of the
swimming pool. The rest you can only learn by diving in.

Monday, 2 December 2013

If you happen to be feeling very
motivated and enthusiastic about your story, then sitting down and writing it
isn’t going to be a problem.

When you’re writing as fast as
you can and all synapses are firing you really don’t need any particular
structure or technique to your process. You write until you can’t write
anymore, and then you get up the next day and do it again.

In a perfect world with plenty of
free time and no distractions there would be no excuse for not getting those
words onto the page. But things don’t always work out that way and most of us
find plenty of reasons to give up and watch TV instead.

One method you might find useful
if, like me, you’re not always delighted by the prospect of sitting at the
computer with no end in sight, is to set yourself deadlines. Not just one, but
many.

Monday, 25 November 2013

When someone asks you what the
theme of your story is, it can be a hard question to answer. This doesn’t mean your story doesn't have one, it just isn't overt, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. In fact, theme isn’t something you want front and centre.

That is, the reader doesn’t need
to know from the outset what themes you’re going to be looking at. And even if
by the end they can’t really put their finger on exactly what the overarching
theme was, they just have a feeling that they can’t quite put into words, that’s
fine. In many ways that sort of response is preferable to being too obvious or
predictable.

However, for the writer, it’s
important to know how theme is created, how you can shape it and what the mechanics
are.

Monday, 18 November 2013

Stories are filled with unlikely occurrences. It’s
hard to avoid unless you’re writing about very mundane events. But no matter
how fantastical things get, and how willing the reader is to suspend their
disbelief, it’s the writer’s responsibility to make what’s happening on the
page feel believable.

And there are plenty of attributes of the good liar
that can prove useful in doing this.

Monday, 11 November 2013

If Jack and Diane were about to have a baby so they
bought loads of baby clothes, but then Diane suffered a miscarriage and was no
longer able to have children and they ended up selling all the baby stuff, that
would make for a sad story most people would sympathise with.

But if I put the story in this form:

For Sale: Baby shoes. Never worn.

...the impact of what happened is much sharper.

The difference, other than the impressive brevity,
is that in Hemingway’s famous six word story, the realisation of what happened
occurs in the reader’s mind.

Even though there are no details and no specifics,
the part of the brain that puts two and two together and comes up with four
adds that feeling of accomplishment to the emotion being expressed, magnifying
it.

In short, if you can get the reader to work out the
cause of what characters are feeling, then they are much more likely to share
that feeling.

It is, of course, far easier to just tell the reader
what’s going on. If the subject matter is an emotive one (like dead babies)
then they’re still going to have some kind of emotional reaction. But we are so
used to things unfolding in predictable patterns that we often become detached
and distanced from what we are being told. We see it coming and we’re able to
ease past it.

It’s the way we interact with each other. Most of
the time we know what someone’s saying before they’ve finished saying it; and we’re already planning our reply. We’re very good at it because we get a lot
of practice and nine times out of ten we guess right. But when things don’t
turn out the way we expected it pulls us out of the noise and hubbub of everyday
life and we pay attention to what’s being said—Wait, what did you say?—and then you’re much more
likely to react on a deeper level.

In term of story, the emotional parts where
characters are facing difficult situations and choices often get treated in a
simple and straightforward manner because the subject matter speaks for itself.
If Amy is going to have an abortion, the situation is already so infused with
meaning and preconceptions that it may seem pointless to add anything. And if
you do it can end up feeling heavy-handed or clunky.

You may think leaving it to the reader to form
their own opinions is part of good storytelling, but there are few writers who
write to encourage people to keep thinking whatever they want to think.

In most cases, the writer has set out a sequence of
events to elicit certain reactions. Not necessarily to push a particular
political agenda (although that can certainly be a possibility), it can just be
to have the reader root for this character against that character, have them
hope A falls in love with B or be on board with the idea that aliens ruling
over us isn’t acceptable.

These are things the writer wants to happen, not just
by chance but by design.

You can hope the reader falls in line with your way
of thinking, and some probably will, or you can lead them to where you want
them to go. Without them realising it.

Kind of sneaky, but pretty much the basis of all
good fiction.

For example:

Amy turned up
at the clinic exactly on time. She didn’t want to have to wait around, thinking
about how painful the procedure was going to be. But it was over very quickly
and she didn’t feel a thing, not for many years.

A little bit of wordplay to wrongfoot the reader
and it stops being about my views on abortion, or even yours. Instead, you’re
focused on Amy’s experience. You can still make a judgment on what happens and
how she handles it, but for that moment when it isn’t clear what was said and
then all of a sudden it is, everything else is removed from the equation and
you get a pure blast of the here and now. This is what happened to Amy.

When you get the brain working on putting the pieces
in place, even if it’s fairly obvious where they go, there’s less room for distraction,
opinions and daydreaming. You fix the reader’s mind on those words on the page.

That’s the power of coming at things from an
unexpected direction. Not to be vague or mysterious, or to try and drum up
curiosity, but to lift the moment out of the narrative stream we’re so used to
and give it the reader’s full attention, even if only for an instant.

Monday, 28 October 2013

We’ve all read stories where we get a weird creepy
feeling even though not much is happening on the page. No monsters jumping out,
maybe just someone hears a noise, sees something out of the corner of their eye
and it’s enough to give you the willies.

But when you try to write a scene full of psychological
horror it’s not as simple as putting the character in a spooky environment and letting
the reader’s imagination do the rest.

Monday, 7 October 2013

Sometimes a story idea comes fully formed, or at
least with enough detail of where it needs to go that you can’t wait to get
writing.

Other times a character or a setting makes a strong
enough impression on your imagination that you feel like you have the starting
point of a story, but beyond that you have no clear indication of where to take
it.

If you start writing with not much more than the
germ of an idea it might work out, inspiration might strike when you need it—some
writers indeed are only able to work in this fashion—but most people will struggle
to fill three hundred pages off the back of a vague notion, even when that
notion is full of potential. And there’s nothing worse than getting a hundred pages
in and realising you’ve run out of steam.

So, how can you fatten up your idea, getting it
into the kind of condition that means the ideas will lead you one to the next, rather than you
having to force yourself to strain your brain to come up with stuff?

Monday, 23 September 2013

We all want to write characters that have depth and
complexity. We want them to feel like real people who struggle with decisions
and choices, and we want the reader to be curious about what path they’ll take.

The problem is that if you give characters all the
reactions and moods of a real person, they can turn into a confusing muddle of
contradictions.

Conversely, if you try to streamline a character’s motivations
and goals in an attempt to create a strong throughline which the reader can
clearly identify and follow, that can make the character seem one-dimensional
and robotic.

How, then, do you make a character feel fully
formed and yet at the same time easy to engage with?

Monday, 16 September 2013

Once upon a time there used to be small bookshops
on every street corner, run by helpful, wizened booksellers full of advice and
oak shelves piled high with leatherbound tomes.

We have to fight to make sure Mr Barnes and Mr
Noble and all those other those sweet, cardigan-wrapped, bespectacled and
wild-haired book pedlars don’t end up penniless and destitute, right?

Hardly. The kind of rhetoric you hear in defence of
the poor booksellers being steamrollered by Amazon is pretty much the same as
the rhetoric back in the 90s when those same booksellers (Borders, Waterstones,
Barnes & Noble) were crushing their smaller counterparts with huge book
superstores.

But the down on his luck little guy makes for a
much more compelling argument.

Which is a lesson all storytellers can learn from. If
you want to make a point strongly, if you want characters to be memorable and
for the stakes to feel high, there is one simple way to do it: exaggerate.

Thursday, 12 September 2013

Here’s a secret about story structure that
you may not have realized: You already
know it.

Many authors are intimidated by the mere
thought of structure. As if writing isn’t already enough of a juggling act, now
we’re expected to also make certain our plot fits into some nebulous framework.
It can be daunting, to say the least.

But here’s the great thing about structure:
it’s neither nebulous nor difficult to learn.

Monday, 9 September 2013

Keeping things from the reader is an important part
of storytelling. They should read the book wanting to know what’s going on,
who’s behind it all and where the story will end up. If everything’s clear from
the outset it becomes predictable and boring.

Suspense and tension are created by selectively
feeding information to the reader and leaving some facts out.

When done right it makes for an exciting and
engaging experience.

When done wrong it can be confusing and tedious.

Deciding how much to reveal and when to do it is a tricky
thing to get right. Here are some techniques you can use to help ensure the
reader doesn’t lose interest while you dangle bits of info in front of them.

Monday, 2 September 2013

A well-written villain can make all the difference
in a story, but does that mean a complex portrayal of a character who believes
in what they’re doing just as much as the hero? Or does it mean a guy with a
black hat who’s a horrible bastard?

Intellectually we would probably all claim to
prefer the antagonist with depth, but in reality people don’t particularly want
their villains to be assorted shades of grey.

The idea of a specific, clearly defined baddie is
very appealing. Seeing them get their comeuppance creates a sense of great
satisfaction. The more uncompromising the depiction of them as evil, the easier
it is to enjoy their downfall or even their death.

Monday, 26 August 2013

In 1985, Alison Bechdel wrote a comic strip in which
a character stated that she would only go see a movie if the following criteria
were met:

1. It has to have at least two women in it

2. who talk to each other

3. about something other than a man.

The joke being that because of these rules she
hadn’t been to the cinema since 1979.

The comic came and went, but these three rules
stuck around and became known as the Bechdel Test. Its appeal comes from its
simplicity and its stark illustration of just how poorly women are depicted in
mainstream entertainment.

This is particularly apparent in Holllywood movies,
but also in television shows and books. Once you start thinking about it, it’s
quite staggering how many fictional representations of humanity as a culture
fail to meet these rather basic requirements.

Monday, 19 August 2013

Drama is conflict. Smooth sailing doesn’t make for
much of a story. Things have to go wrong.

The main character has to be involved in these
conflicts. It can’t just happen to her, she must make decisions and choices
that affect the story. A character who waits, observes, runs away or takes the
easiest way out is much, much harder to make interesting. They are in effect
avoiding the telling of their own story.

But as well as choosing which path to take and then
seeing what happens next, the actual choosing is also part of the story. Why
this option? What are the important factors that led to the decision? Which
risks are worth taking and which aren’t?

Giving an indication of these things not only
immerses the reader deeper in the story, it also gives them a better idea of
who the character is and what they’re capable of.

And while you need to make sure there’s enough at
stake or a sense of urgency so the character can’t avoid taking action,
contriving events too such an extent that there’s only one option available
won’t help characters reveal themselves.

If there’s only one thing to be done, then anyone
would do the same thing, and that takes away the opportunity to learn about
this character, something that’s very valuable early on in a story.

Of course, how they go about achieving their goal
will vary from character to character, but that’s something that will become
apparent over the course of the narrative. You also need to connect the reader
and character early on so they want to know more about this person.

Providing a number of options and showing which
this character chooses is a quick way to give the reader an early peek into a
character.

Having a lot of options that are either impossible
or too easy won’t add any interest. They have to be viable options and they
need to have consequences. Choosing to go left or right at the crossroads is arbitrary.
Choosing left through the crocodile swamp or right through the river full of piranhas
is a much more interesting choice.

But there’s more to these sorts of decisions
than flipping a coin.

Why choose one over the other? What’s the thought
process? What are the precautions and preparation? These are the things that
make the approach to the action as engaging as the action itself.

Once the decision is made and we understand why one
path is selected over another, then the next step is to take that path and for
it to lead to disaster.

This isn’t always going to be the case, but most of
the time the way to get the most out of a situation that has obvious risks attached
is for the worst outcome to come true. Because this requires character to act.

If the character goes through the swamp with
crocodiles and luckily avoids any of them, that won’t be a very exciting
story.That doesn’t mean they should
head into the swamp and then get attacked and then fight their way across.
First, how do they plan to get through the swamp?

If, for example, they decide to disguise a canoe to
look like a crocodile and then cunningly float through the swamp, you can see
the plan, and also get an idea of the mindset of the people involved. And to
get the most out of it, they can’t just succeed.So maybe an amorous croc decides to fall for
the canoe and mount it in loving fashion...

The point is the plan should be specific to the
character’s way of thinking, and the way it goes wrong should be specific to
the plan.

A character’s struggle with which way to go will
link directly to how they react when it goes wrong. The fact they knew things
could go wrong and went for it anyway will make them more likeable. Their plan
to overcome the obstacles will give the reader something to root for. When
things go wrong they will get our sympathy. When they get in trouble but find a
way to keep going, they will win our admiration.

All these things are linked and they start with a
character who is conflicted about what to do.

This can work for any situation. You can take any
choice and make it harder (by making the consequences clearer).

Showing the
problems the character has with each option, and then why they choose to do
what they do will help show the kind of person they are when facing trouble.
Having things go wrong will show what kind of person they are in a crisis.

Let’s say Mary discovers her sister’s husband is a
professional thief responsible for a bank robbery where people died. What does
she do?

If she goes to police, the sister and her kids will
be left without anyone to take care of them. The sister probably won’t thank
her for it. If she keeps quiet, more people could die.

The question at this point is what kind of person
is Mary? Is she shy and not the type to get involved in other people’s
business? Or is she mouthy and always sticking her nose where it doesn’t
belong?

If she’s the mouthy type, and she’s going to get involved,
how is that a difficult decision for her? If she isn’t conflicted about the
choice she has to make, it won’t feel like a big deal.

In this sort of situation where it feels like the
path is obvious and that it will eventually lead to dramatic stuff, it’s worth
taking a moment to consider how dramatic it is right now.

Mary's the type who wants to say something, that
much is clear, but how can you make what she does less predictable?

If she goes to the sister to warn her and discovers
that she already knows and is fine with it, then what?

But what if she sees the brother-in-law slap her
sister around?

But what if the kids will get taken away if the law
gets involved?

You can always find a way to make the right thing to do less clear cut.

It may seem more attractive from a writing point of
view to keep things simple so you always know the next step for a
character, but then so will the reader. When a character has good reason
to pause for thought, what they decide to do next will be worth waiting for.

Monday, 12 August 2013

Every story is a series of events that hopefully
lead from one to another. Something happens and because of that other actions
need to be taken.

But even when thing logically follow on from one to
the next, that doesn’t necessarily make for an interesting story. Just because
there’s a good reason for what a character’s doing, that isn’t necessarily enough
to make it worth reading about.

You can very easily get into a groove that turns
into a rut. What the character needs to do next seems so obvious the writer
doesn’t take a moment to consider whether that’s a good thing.

Monday, 5 August 2013

This is not going to be a post about love,
marriage, hearts and/or flowers.The
kind of romanticism I’m talking about is the kind you find in most fictional
stories.

The hero wins, the villain gets what they deserve,
good triumphs over evil and love conquers all. This kind of romantic ideal is
why we read stories. We have a picture of the way the world should be, but it stubbornly refuses to
live up to our expectations. So we create our own worlds where things turn out
right.

That said, things can go too far the other way.
When everything comes up smelling of roses and all dreams come true it can feel
a bit too much like wishful thinking.